


take me to the limit (hold me down there)

by harperuth



Series: (with you) i got to get bolder [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Chastity Device, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, References to past trauma, some brief Minimus/Magnus armor, undercommunicated kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26484661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/pseuds/harperuth
Summary: Minimus kept his helm straight, not leaning in the warm press of Rung’s digits still on his face. He didn’t deserve them, “What does it do?”“Pardon?” Rung blinked.“The...what it is you have for me?” Minimus made himself ask. Then he amended, “What it is that Brainstorm designed?”“Hm,” Rung moved then, crowding Minimus back until he back pressed against the door, “No, I don’t think I’ll tell you.”- - -Or, Minimus learns a lesson from Rung in regards to the Magnus armor.
Relationships: Minimus Ambus/Rung
Series: (with you) i got to get bolder [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726693
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	1. starry eyes

**Author's Note:**

> well howdy folks! we're starting this one off with hefty warning that there is a situation here where due to past trauma minimus feels like he can't say no. rung reads his discomfort and stops what they're doing as soon as he can but! please be aware!!
> 
> as always, these two are destroying me. 
> 
> thank you to k for listening to me worry about future plot points, reading through everything, and all the reassurance.
> 
> title is from 'no drug like me' by carly rae jepsen

Minimus let his helm drop down against the armor’s chest, shivers still wracking his frame. The armor’s spike depressurized slowly, but even the gradual withdrawal was enough to run another shudder through him. His processor reordered itself carefully, the tail end of the patch program beginning its wrap up sequence.

He idly noted something slot into place around his emotional regulation unit.

Minimus grimaced, sitting up again. He pulled a cloth from his subspace, rubbing at the slight paint mark his helm had left. He frowned, trying to chase an errant text string that wasn’t quite connecting to anything.

He’d managed to get through the rest of his pre-recharge maintenance and was nearly on the verge of recharge when it finally slotted into place.

“Minimus?” Rung answered his comm, a little groggy and staticked. Minimus flushed, remembering the last time he’d woken with Rung, how he’d barely been able to unshutter his optics, mumbling while Minimus ushered him through a few post-recharge checks. He drew himself from the warm remnants of the memory file when Rung continued, “It’s late, are you alright?”

“I—” Minimus hadn’t checked the time. 

His vents seized, societal protocols cinching tight around his vocalizer. He’d had how many sets of data packets pressed onto him? Layers upon layers of rules that jumbled together and built upon themselves and constantly contradicted, leaving him scrambling. Tyrest’s-Dominus’s-Rodimus’s voice thundered through him, _if you contact me off shift again there will be consequences not now minimus it’s been rather a long day really? right now? do we have to do this now? i just got off shift mags—_

“Minimus?” Rung’s voice cut through.

“I’m so sorry,” Minimus choked out. He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. Reason after reason cycled through his processor.

“Minimus,” Rung said again, in the tone of voice that brought image captures of straight shoulders and an even stare to the front of his processor, “Tell me what your servos are doing.”

Minimus focused on the image captures, following the line of Rung’s shoulders to his awareness of his own, following them down to his servos. They were gripping their opposite elbows. He winced when the pain of his digits digging into tensile materials and protomesh filtered through, “They’re holding my elbows.”

“Good,” Rung said and Minimus felt his vents draw air once more, “Can you tell me one thing that you see in front of you? Don’t move or look for anything, just whatever is in your optic line right now.”

“Berth coverings,” He mumbled, the spoke louder at Rung’s questioning noise, “I was about to recharge. I’m in berth. The coverings are over my legs.”

_Legs built for you, to make you better, and it’s still not enough to hide your faults._

“Very good,” Rung said, voice sliding back to recharge warm and concerned, “Now, are you alright?”

“I— Yes, sorry,” Minimus cycled his optics and drew his knees up, watching the stretch of the berth coverings tented over them, “I apologize for comming so late, I didn’t check the time.”

He winced, waiting for the rebuke that was undoubtedly coming. Rung only laughed, “That’s quite alright. I’m always happy to hear from you.”

Minimus stared at his knees. He tried to connect the glyphs to his logic center but they kept slipping away. Rung kept talking when he didn’t say anything, “Though I must admit I was worried for a moment. Late night calls from you are generally of a different sort.”

“We’re in space; there’s no day or night,” Minimus said on reflex, his regular argument with Rodimus rising unbidden. Rung laughed, rather than bite back. Minimus cycled his intake, committing the sound to a searchable memory file.

“Did you comm to argue the pedantry of language with me, Minimus?” Rung asked, laughter still lurking in his tone.

“I— No,” Minimus admitted, though he very much wished that were the case in this moment, “I, um—”

“ _Are_ you alright?” Rung sounded worried when Minimus didn’t continue, “Should I come over?”

“No, that’s— I’m alright,” Minimus didn’t want to bear the brunt of Rung’s disappointment face to face, “I forgot.”

“Forgot...?” Rung asked. Minimus detached his servos from his elbows so they could come up to cover his face.

“I forgot to comm you earlier and I-I— It was an accident, I just— Megatron and Rodimus were fighting all day today and Drift was upset about something and no one was _listening_ to me and I— It was an accident, I’m sorry,” Minimus forced himself to stop talking. He listened to the silence of the commline with dread building in his fuel tank.

“Alright, dearling,” Rung murmured, “Alright. Can you tell me what was an accident?”

“I— The armor—” Minimus couldn’t make himself say it. He’d disobeyed and he knew what came of that.

_Can’t follow even a simple request from the mech lowering himself enough to interface with you, hm?_

“Ah,” Rung said, and the silence reigned once more.

“I’m sorry,” Minimus whispered, after several agonizing nanokliks.

“Can you meet me in my office after your next, hm, gamma shift?” Rung said. Minimus trembled. Three cycles from now. That was plenty of time to get any number of punishments ready.

“Yes,” He choked out.

“Thank you,” Rung said, perfectly professional. Minimus mourned the warmth in his voice, “I’ll see you then.”

Minimus listened to the static of his unconnected comm for nearly a groon before he was able to attempt recharge once more.

\- - -

Minimus stared at the heavy weight of Rung’s closed door, dithering.

He was being needlessly dramatic. The door had no actual weight for him to grapple with. It would slide away as soon as he told Rung he’d arrived. Dithering was never something to pride himself on.

 _Make a decision and then act, it’s what any good leader_ should _do. But what would you know about that?_

Yet, he couldn’t make himself stop. The door seemed very large. Rung had sent an additional request for him to present himself without armor and Minimus couldn’t argue. He’d felt horribly exposed walking through the halls of the Lost Light, but this wasn’t a punishment for nothing.

The door loomed.

He cycled his optics and pinged Rung.

The door slid open a moment later. Minimus entered the empty office, “Rung?”

“Yes!” Rung called from...under his desk. The chair wobbled when it was evidently nudged, “Hello. I’m sorry dearling, your ping startled me.”

Rung’s head popped up behind his desk, a genuine smile lighting his features, “Anyway, I— Hello.”

“Hello,” Minimus responded, distracted, tagging and archiving that smile.

“It’s very lovely to see you,” Rung said, always with the subtle emphasis.

“I— Yes,” Minimus had to look away from that smile. He cycled his intake and reminded himself that this was a punishment. He flinched, plating shuffling, when Rung’s digits brushed the side of his face, turning him back to look at him.

“Hello,” Rung said again, and his voice was warm. Minimus felt caught and spread thin by his optics. Rung kissed him softly, “I’m terribly sorry for the delay, I had to have this made and Brainstorm barely seems to understand the meaning of the words ‘rush request’ unless they’re coming from Rodimus or Whirl and, well—”

Minimus blinked against the onslaught of glyphs. Rung cut himself off with a chuckle, “I’m rambling. I only meant to apologize for keeping you in suspense, and that I have something for you.”

Something made by Brainstorm. A weapons designer was a clever choice for making a punishment. Minimus didn’t think he’d had anything like that before. He tried not to shake, “That’s alright. I’m patient.”

Tyrest used to summon him for meetings behind doors that were locked to his entrance. He’d found there was no dressing down quite like the double punch of disobeying an order and speculation of the consequences of such an impertinence. Rung kissed him again, “You are. I very much admire that about you.”

Minimus kept his helm straight, not leaning in the warm press of Rung’s digits still on his face. He didn’t deserve them, “What does it do?”

“Pardon?” Rung blinked.

“The...what it is you have for me?” Minimus made himself ask. Then he amended, “What it is that Brainstorm designed?”

“Hm,” Rung moved then, crowding Minimus back until he back pressed against the door, “No, I don’t think I’ll tell you.”

Minimus knew he was shaking, but for all that his conjecture engine was largely inert, he still had the ability to consider multiple possibilities. None of them were pleasant. Rung’s optics were delighted. Minimus tried to focus on that. At least his punishment would serve a purpose. His plating chimed where it shivered against itself. Rung’s voice dipped, and he couldn’t tell if he was talking to Minimus or himself, “Yes, it is rather good to see you again.”

He ducked down in the way Minimus was starting to think only he was capable of, the way that never made Minimus feel small, and kissed him. 

Rung had kissed him many times. Sluggish, recharge tinged kisses before alpha shifts. Soft, slick kisses to his plating in the washracks. Burning, intense claims to his mouth and attention while he overloaded. One particularly treasured memory of the feather light brush of lip plates against his nasal ridge when Minimus had looked up amid the maintenance that Rung had indulged in letting Minimus perform on him. Point of fact, Rung had kissed him multiple times since he’d arrived.

Somehow this kiss felt perfectly familiar and entirely new at the same time.

Rung’s digits on his cheek turned into the wide breadth of his servo, cradling Minimus’s face and turning it up just enough for Rung to press their lip plates together. His movements were agonizingly soft but still directed. Minimus followed every minute pressure of his servo putting him where he was needed, every push and pull of his lip plates until he was gasping. Rung’s glossa dipped shallowly into his mouth and Minimus lost track of...everything.

His processor slowed and cataloged any fleeting sensation he could grasp. Rung’s digits tightening and loosening on the soft dermametal of his face. The cold metal of the door against his back when Rung stepped forward enough to press his warm plating against his front. The gentle pressure of a bite to his lower lip plate that was soothed away a nanoklik or eternity later by Rung’s glossa. 

Sometimes Minimus wondered if Rung had an index of kisses that he was slowly testing until he found the best possible combination.

Minimus knew his vents were heaving and cleanser was stinging at his optics by the time Rung pulled back and brushed their nasal ridges together. He pressed another chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Yes, very good.”

_Always used so well._

Minimus startled, both at the voice and at Rung folding to his knees. He cycled his optics, trying to reconcile his visual input with his logic centers. Rung tapped his panel, “Care to open up for me, please?”

Minimus didn’t want to.

He trembled, staring down at Rung. He knew he would, but— “Minimus?”

He blinked rapidly at Rung. Rung, who was now looking concerned, drawing away because Minimus couldn’t acquiesce a simple request. Because Minimus was ruining his plans. His punishment.

_You’ll lock your vocalizer and accept what’s good for you._

Minimus triggered his manual panel transformation.

He wasn’t aroused by any means, even after being kissed beyond his processing. Probably for the best, considering. They were in Rung’s _office_ and Minimus had no control over the door. 

Punishment, he reminded himself.

Rung’s digits brushed his knee, “Alright, I—”

Something clicked into pace above his array, close enough that it would be behind his panel. Minimus stared at the wall of model ships, barely venting. Rung tapped his hip, “Close up, please.”

Minimus snapped his panel shut with some relief.

He finally moved to look down when Rung didn’t stand. Rung was sat back on his heels, not touching Minimus, helm cocked as he looked up. He couldn’t understand why Rung looked so sad, “You needn’t obey my every request, dearling. You’re allowed to say no.”

Of course he wasn’t.

“Of course,” Minimus let the endearment wash through him, something warm left in its wake.

Rung stood and kissed his forehelm, somehow not making the action demeaning, “May I see you tonight?”

“Yes?” Minimus couldn’t begin to understand why Rung would want to. Time with Rung was hardly a punishment.

“Thank you,” Rung smiled, a small one, but still there, “Now. Go recharge. Gamma shift always feels the longest, you’ve earned it.”

Minimus didn’t have it in him to argue the fallacy of the statement.


	2. blurry eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was sitting in my wip folder like 3/4 done for far too long i'm so sorry

Minimus vented slowly, considering the inactive mirror before him. 

He rarely saw fit to indulge in vanity. _Nor should you, with a frame like that._ He was lagging, desperate for recharge. _Recharge for the spark that powers Ultra Magnus._ And yet—

His pre-recharge maintenance was almost complete. He ran his glossa over his polished denta, tracking the progress of the patch program. He was dithering again.

Minimus activated the mirror.

He didn’t take up much of it. His frame was hunched, and he knew nothing would get his shoulders to straighten. _Pathetic._ Red optics. White plating. Green accents. He catalogued his appearance without thought, gaze flying over his frame as quickly as he could.

He lingered unconsciously over his chest plating, seeing without seeing the spark underneath. _All that you’re good for_. His servo came up to brush as the divot where waist met hip, tracing around the odd belt-like plating around them. His optics flicked to the Magnus armor behind him, taking in the large servos, the wide shoulders.

_There is no contest_.

Minimus frowned and looked back to himself, forcing his digits around to press as his panel lock. He pushed the panel away then froze, servo hiding his array from the mirror. This was ridiculous. What did it matter what it looked like? He didn’t need his punishment to be aesthetically pleasing. 

A memory file rose up and played back before he could stop it: Rung’s optics burning through him, glyphs rushing to alight what was left, “You like your spike. You told me so. I want you to show it off.”

Perhaps...perhaps he did want it to look nice.

Perhaps he wanted to be something that Rung wanted to look at.

_As if anyone would want to look at you twice._

Minimus withdrew his servo and cycled his optics. Laughter bubbled up despite everything. Blinking fitfully above his spike was a small disk, orange with blue light. He twisted his hips, trying to see another angle. Whatever it was didn’t stick out too far, barely a bump on his plating. Minimus flushed when he realized he was _admiring_ the look of it. Of his array.

Something washed through him that he couldn’t fully identify. Shame at finding his punishment enjoyable on even a surface level. Cold discomfort at the memory of receiving it. Shy warmth at how well Rung’s colors looked against his own. 

Minimus pressed a digit to the device, trying to work out if it turned on or not. Nothing happened. He pressed harder and his digits brushed his spike. Charge skittered across his array.

He snatched his servo back, staring at his own wide optics in the mirror.

He triggered his panel shut. It didn’t move. He dropped his optics back to his array. The device was blinking a little faster and his spike was pushing forward, just enough that his panel hadn’t closed as a proximity failsafe. When had he become aroused?

He deactivated the mirror and watched the surface frost over. He could just recharge. He needed to recharge. His processor spat back several statistics about poor recharge due to charge build up. He batted them away. They weren’t even well reviewed. It was ridiculous. He didn’t _need_ optimal recharge, even if the idea had been substantial.

Except. Well.

Minimus stared unseeing between his legs. Did he _want_ to? Blurry orange and blue stared back at him.

He climbed onto his berth, laying back and shuttering his optics tightly. He turned out his hab lights. He offlined his optics after a moment for good measure. Minimus vented, counting each pass of air through his frame. His array pulsed softly, like a reminder. He located his servos, resting on the berth to either side of his hips.

_What are your servos doing, Minimus?_

He lifted one and pressed a digit to the device again. It wasn’t any warmer or cooler than the rest of his frame. He let his digit slip down to smooth over the top of his spike. His vents hitched.

Alright.

Minimus bent his knees, bracing his pedes on the berth, pressing two digits to his spike. He vented, rifling through his memory files. His hips rocked up against his digits, sending shocks of charge through his system while he flickered through various files. The fumbling touches of another newforge, name and face long forgotten. A fuzzy file of a single rut with another beast alt-mode, some sort of photovoltaic cat?

His fans clicked on, cool air pulling into his frame. Minimus circled his hips against his digits, a choked noise escaping his vocalizer. He lingered briefly on the file of one of Dominus’s business contacts, someone large even to his first set of armor, who’d lifted his knee and drove wonderfully big digits into his valve in the cellar of some forgotten family at some forgotten party. Minimus rocked his hips faster, the ghost sensation of lips at his audial muttering, _yeah gorgeous, look at that, you take it so well_.

Large digits in his valve morphed into a broad servo cupping his array, blue optics and straight shoulders. Laughter and soft hums and glyphs tripped over themselves rushing from his memory bank _i’d like to touch you— it’s nice to see_ you— _i don’t care about the armor’s spike— i want you to show it off—_

Minimus’s fans clicked up to their highest setting and he froze but for his servo, rubbing his spike quickly, on the edge of overload.

_tell me as soon as you start overloading_.

Charge rushed around Minimus’s frame, down his legs and banding around his hips. Just as the telltale cresting began, everything cut off. He could still feel his digits moving on his array, could feel the charge built up right to the beginning of overload, but he couldn’t go any further. Minimus stopped his servo, lowering his hips to the berth.

His vents heaved, array tingling with unspent charge. He onlined and unshuttered his optics, staring at the ceiling of his hab. A steady blue glow filled the room, the device on his array no longer blinking. He touched it, noting the slight hum it now seemed to have. He blinked.

Oh.

Rung answered his comm, “Minimus?”

“Does it—” Minimus bit his lip at the static of his voice, realizing that his fans were still running at high and Rung could undoubtedly hear them, “Is it meant to keep me from overloading?”

“Minimus,” Rung said again, shock and delight coloring his tone, “Were you _self-servicing_?”

“I—” Minimus didn’t think he could flush any further but he felt his frame heat anyway, “I was just— I wanted to see it and I— The color is nice, I like it.”

“You’re a wonderful surprise each and every day,” Rung murmured, and Minimus felt his frame strain to overload again.

“Rung,” Minimus said, trying for firm and landing closer to pleading.

“Recharge, dearling,” Rung said, “I’ll see you this evening.”

\- - -

Rung arrived precisely six kliks after the start of the beta shift.

Minimus wasn’t sure if it was because his office was exactly six kliks away at his walking pace, or if it was because that’s when he’d arrived the first time he’d visited Minimus’s hab. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, just appreciated the exact nature of these encounters. He’d always see Rung six kliks after shift change.

He liked it.

Minimus opened the door remotely, listening to the familiar soft steps while he stared at his knees. Rung stopped a considerable distance from him, “Hello Minimus, are you...alright?”

“Yes,” Minimus didn’t wince at how staticked his voice was. He pressed his knees together tightly, “I can’t expel any charge.”

“Yes?” Rung still sounded hesitant. Minimus looked up at him. Why was he so far away?

“I can’t expel _any_ charge,” Minimus said again, trying to make Rung understand.

“That is kind of the point,” Rung smiled. Minimus shivered, plating flaring.

“Frames gather and expel a lot of useless charge just by functioning,” Minimus’s fans valiantly tried to click up to another setting, but they were already running on high.

“Oh!” Rung finally walked closer, reaching out and brushing his digits against Minimus’s face. They snapped just a little on impact, electricity reaching out to jump but unable to connect, “Oh. Well. I suppose I’ll have to make my point quickly then.”

“Point?” Minimus rubbed his thighs together at Rung’s touch, even knowing the action held no relief.

Rung didn’t clarify, just trailed his digits down Minimus’s face until they were under his chin, pulling him to standing with the lightest upward pressure. Minimus allowed himself to be moved, frame straining for even a bit of static to leave. His array felt heavy, spike aroused enough to brush against the inside of his panel. 

Rung led them over to the Magnus armor. Minimus reached a servo up to pull himself up, but Rung stopped him with a servo, such a large servo, on his shoulder, spinning him around and pressing his back against the armor’s knees, “Yes, Minimus. My point.”

Minimus shook, his plating unable to sit still as the excess charge turned to heat and needed to be expelled. 

Was this...was this still his punishment?

“Is this still my punishment?” He asked, unable to get his processes in order. 

Rung blinked, staring down at Minimus for a nanoklik. Minimus stared back, listening to his fans strain. Rung ducked down and kissed the corner of his mouth softly, “No, dearling. It’s only a point.”

He dropped to his knees. 

Minimus could only watch in detached fascination as Rung got himself settled, kneeling in front of him for the second time that cycle. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about it, but his frame, humming with charge, certainly thought it alright. Rung’s digits came up to curl around his hips, thumbs brushing Minimus’s panel with the barest of pressure. It snapped back immediately. 

“Keep your optics on me,” Rung said, waiting until Minimus nodded before leaning forward and running his glossa over Minimus’s spike. 

Minimus’s frame couldn't work out what to do with the input. He tried to pull away and press into the contact all at once, but the armor at his back and Rung’s servos on his hips kept him in place. His fans didn't have anywhere higher to go, his plating was already flaring, and the soft touch of Rung’s glossa felt almost painful against all the inescapable charge in his system. 

Rung pulled back, seeming to take all this in with a critical optic, before he smiled, something predatory in the set of his mouth, “I can't tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this, Minimus.”

Minimus could only watch as Rung leant forward again, taking his spike past his lip plates and _sucking_. 

Everything in him strained for overload. It was all so much, too much, and he spasmed, trying to expel charge. He’d never been more aware of his spike, so full of charged energon, _in Rung’s mouth_. Minimus suddenly connected the whining moan in the room to his vocalizer, and he was too far gone to be embarrassed about it. 

“Rung,” He finally managed to gasp, as the truncated overload skittered across his plating. Rung groaned and sucked harder, “Ah!”

Minimus felt like he was going to offline. He couldn't pull together a single text string, let alone some diagnostic of his systems. Everything was charge and wet, warm input and more charge. He shuddered again through an almost overload, the device warm enough to nearly burn where Rung’s nasal ridge brushed against it as he sucked. 

Rung pulled back with a lingering lick over his spike, “You are absolutely beautiful like this.”

Minimus shook, almost on the edge of pain. Rung’s digits squeezed his spike and started pulling, “I only wish I had more time to take you apart.”

Minimus didn't feel taken apart. He felt utterly and horrifically whole, every part of his frame present and straining for the one thing he couldn't have, “Please, Rung—”

“In a moment, dearest,” Rung’s digits didn't slow down or speed up, just pulled Minimus’s spike enough to keep him teetering on the edge of the overload Minimus knew wouldn't come, “I just need to make sure you understand.”

“Understand,” Minimus echoed, his vocalizer staticked nearly beyond recognition. 

“Yes,” Rung’s free servo slid from Minimus’s hip, up over his abdominal plating, until it rested over his spark, “This isn't a punishment.”

“But, I—” Minimus pressed into his servo, wishing in the moment that his chest armor was open and Rung was holding the very core of him. 

“Say it after me, Minimus,” Rung’s voice was hard. Unarguable, “This isn't a punishment.”

“This,” Minimus leaned further, amazed that Rung didn't shake or shift, despite how much of Minimus’s weight he must be taking. His digits kept up on Minimus’s spike, “This isn't a punishment.”

“I don’t care about the armor,” Rung said, optics focused, like he could see inside Minimus’s processor.

“You,” Minimus couldn’t vent, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Everything narrowed down to Rung. Rung’s optics, Rung’s shoulders, Rung’s servo over his spark, Rung’s digits on his spike, “You don’t care about the armor.”

“I care about _you_ ,” Rung said, softer, but no less firm.

“You care about me,” Minimus gasped.

“Good, good,” Rung murmured, “Now just listen.”

As if Minimus could do anything else.

“I’m not angry or disappointed,” Rung started, and his words picked up speed as he went, “I don’t think myself able to control you or what you need. I just worry. I worry for your health and your safety and your wellbeing, physical and mental. I think you’re so much better than you see yourself. I don’t think you need the armor. I certainly don’t think you need use it as an interfacing aid.”

Minimus felt his whole frame shake, once again close. So close.

“Minimus,” Rung pushed up and pressed a kiss between his spread digits over Minimus’s spark, “Dearest. All that I want is to be the one to make you feel like this.”

Strangely, the sound of the device hitting the floor registered to Minimus before anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is...a coda now...whoops :)


	3. take me so up and down

Rung listened to Minimus vent, running his digits idly across the loop of plating around Minimus’s hips that he rather liked.

He wished, once again, that he knew what Minimus was thinking. There was so much there that he couldn’t _see_ and he was aching down to his base coding to know and understand. Every time he thought he had a handle on Minimus, he would say or do something that...that…

Minimus turned further into him, one knee lifting up to slot between Rung’s legs, pulling them closer together.

Like that.

The soft heat of Minimus’s frame reminded him to send a message to Brainstorm, detailing the successes and drawbacks of the disc, and what needed to be changed. That was something that he could do, something that could help. He’d been so, _so_ frightened when Minimus called and immediately devolved into a panic attack, his processor spinning out every worst case scenario possible before snapping into the proper response mode. 

A small deterrent. 

Or, perhaps, if he was being honest, a selfish one.

A punishment.

Rung shuddered slightly, then held still until he was sure Minimus was still in recharge. A _punishment_. He didn’t— He couldn’t— He really should talk to Minimus. He meant to. Every time. He meant to bring up what they were doing, what the intent was, short and long term. He meant to ask Minimus, ‘Is this alright? Is this what you want? Am _I_ what you want?’

‘What are we doing?’ He wanted to ask, ‘Are you happy?’

Minimus’s fans kicked on to a slow spin and Rung moved him carefully, uncovering the vent that he’d blocked rolling onto him. Rung trailed his servo up to curl around Minimus elbow, his arm slung carelessly over Rung’s spark window.

‘Am I as good for you as you are for me?’

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me about robots on twitter [@floralpunkcfb](https://twitter.com/floralpunkcfb)


End file.
